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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963125">The Brickwall and the Overshare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire'>squire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Based on a Tumblr Post, Comedy, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern Era, Star Wars Modern AU, short and sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:42:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two friends decide to play sleuths in the greatest mystery of the entire college campus: who is professor Solo's husband?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, OFC/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Brickwall and the Overshare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ten bucks on next week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam stuck the red pen she was using to thoroughly deface her friend’s essay behind her ear and shook her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s going to take longer than that. I found a photo of him wearing this very T-shirt at the final performance of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Crying Tree</span>
  </em>
  <span> - that was a year and a half ago. That fabric is going to last another month or two at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shani, instead of focusing on proof-reading, watched the object of their gossip as he paced to and fro through the campus library, lifting his arms and rising up on his tiptoes every now and then to tug down a book from the top shelf. Each movement highlighted the impressive span of his shoulders and put added strain on the already terribly overstretched fabric of his T-shirt. It was clearly his favourite piece of clothing, well-worn, threadbare and almost see-through in places. All students majoring in Theater Arts had a running bet on when will that thing just disintegrate off their Theater Design professor’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two months would put it into the summer break,” Shani mused. “I’d rather like it to happen when and where I can see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet it will be glorious,” Sam sighed dreamily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their daydream was abruptly cut short by the sharp and loud sound of a throat cleared right behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spun around, red pen flying in one direction, the essay pages in another. Scrambling, they cowered before the disapproving gaze of Dr. Hux, the Maths professor. The tall and severe man stood there, a stack of books held against the side of his sharply pressed and impeccably buttoned-up jacket, and his cold blue-grey eyes narrowed behind his smart frameless glasses told them exactly what he thought about students drooling over their professor’s physique. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...” Panicking, Sam looked over her shoulder. Professor Solo, the Theater Arts darling and the advocate for ‘comfort-first’ fashion, had already disappeared between the shelves. Sam glanced at Dr. Hux’s face and gulped at the intense look he was giving to his retreating colleague. His lips were pressed tightly together and he looked positively murderous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing when to take a stage exit cue, Sam and Shani scampered off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Professor Solo arrived at his morning lecture in a brand new T-shirt, and an uncharacteristically chastised expression on his usually cheerful face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to apologise,” he started haltingly, “I know I’ve been dressing more… casually than you’d expect from an academic professional, uh… you see, I tend to have lucky pieces of clothing, like… theater and superstition, right? But it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, and it’s been brought up to me that what I was doing could be considered sexual harassment-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Several other students exclaimed as one. “Oh god no, Professor Solo. it’s completely fine. We don’t mind. You should be able to wear whatever you like...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and Shani shared a look of pure disgust, whispering Dr. Hux’s name. That prissy, cold-hearted bastard! That automaton of a man, with his rubrics and clipped way of talking - yeah, he was fair, you got to give him that, but he was also borderline inhuman. Nobody even knew his first name. For fuck’s sake, he even managed to have his faculty email set as </span>
  <a href="mailto:a.hux@college.net">
    <em>
      <span>a.hux@college.net</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>when everyone else’s emails had been set by the system as firstname.lastname. Figured he would be a bully to an actually popular teacher! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor Solo looked relieved, his lop-sided grin appearing once more. “You sure? Because you know, I’d never… I mean, you guys are a bright young bunch, but you know I’m actually happily married, do you-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know, professor Solo,” the lecture hall chanted in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a reason they called him Professor Overshare. It was impossible to major in Theater Arts and not hear all about prof. Solo’s awesome, wonderful, beloved husband. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monday mornings were usually marked by a rain of cookie crumbs down the aisles as Prof. Solo meandered through the room, munching between words of his lecture. To his credit, Professor Overshare also never hesitated to share the goodies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have at it, guys! Amazing, aren’t they? My husband bakes them for me every Sunday afternoon, he knows how much I love them and he loves to spoil me rotten.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>End of September would roll around and Prof. Solo would be strutting around the campus sporting an enviable tan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh I had a great holiday, thanks for asking! It was actually a belated honeymoon, my husband had to finish his doctorate first but now he made it up to me, and it was lovely! We just got so lucky with the weather, not a single cloud the whole time… you know, the best part of the holiday for me was actually getting to rub sunblock on my husband each morning...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Prof. Solo was never grumpy about staying past his office hours. Creative major meant that sometimes you didn’t know when the muse would smile at you, and he genuinely enjoyed helping his students. The only exception was Friday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry!” he would blabber, wrestling his arms into his leather jacket and keeping an eye on the clock rapidly approaching 6pm. “Friday night is date night, and never once in our marriage have I let my husband get stood-up! See you on Monday!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So yes, it was universally known that Prof. Solo was happily married, and disgustingly in love. But despite him being so carefree with incredibly personal details, nobody had actually met his husband yet. There was a picture frame or two - or five - somewhere under the mess of papers on the desk in his office but nobody wanted to risk upending the pile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least the students were happy knowing that Prof. Solo’s husband apparently loved him back with the same ardour, and that their favourite teacher was a very lucky guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Hux, on the other hand…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and Shani took a Maths course outside their major - a bit of math skills could be useful in stage design, and the college encouraged extracurricular courses. But if Prof. Solo was lovingly called Overshare… Dr. Hux could have as well be called Prof. Brickwall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Hux dressed according to a code. On three separate occasions, he arrived at the campus ceremonies dressed smarter than the Dean. When the Dean tried to launch Casual Fridays, Dr. Hux complied by leaving off the tie. Nobody has ever seen Dr. Hux without a jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t socialise at the campus café and didn’t take his lunches at the canteen. He brought his lunches from home, a meticulously packed box of neatly arranged vegan food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His red hair was never out of place. His pale skin probably never saw the sun. Some students argued that there were definitely more freckles scattered along his sharp cheekbones after the summer break but neither Sam nor Shani wanted to look too closely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never talked about himself, and his office was utilitarian and neat, no pictures anywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His office hours ended 6pm sharp each day. Shani had tried to ask for an extra consultation once, when she found herself in between a rock and a hard place just as the weekend was about to roll around, and the assignment was due on Monday. It’s taken all her courage to knock at Dr. Hux’s office door just as the clock passed six. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was met with a brisk denial accompanied by a hard stare. “My schedule is set and I expect you to respect it. If you don’t value the importance of schedules, I suggest you reevaluate your choice of major.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Hux wore a simple platinum band on his ring finger, but it was universally agreed that he probably married Cruella De Vil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On a crisp January morning, Shani walked into the campus café bursting with excitement. The Christmas break couldn’t end too soon! She had to tell someone what she saw!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you know how there was the staff Christmas party on the twenty-second?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam helped herself to a fry out of her friend’s bag and nodded. “I was leaving early, didn’t want to get stuck with the red-eye on my way home. What about it? I thought students weren’t invited to staff parties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shani was practically vibrating, bouncing up and down so hard that her fries nearly ended on the floor. “I didn’t go there,” she assured. “But I had to stay on campus late ‘cos I wanted to check out some books for the winter break, and as I was leaving the library, I noticed… Professor Solo’s car wasn’t in the parking lot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww,” Sam sighed with pity, “did he get sick? He was talking about looking forward to attending the whole damn week!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought,” Shani leaned in conspiratorially. “But then we got the Christmas greetings mass email from the Dean’s office, and there was a group photo from the party - and he was in there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got Sam thinking. Their campus was in the middle of nowhere, a fair stretch of road surrounded by woods from the rest of the town. Even someone as physically imposing and as free-spirited as Prof. Solo wouldn't dare to hike the distance in the middle of winter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That means he left with someone!” she nearly choked on a fry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shani nodded, eyes wide. “Do you think he’s having a… work affair?” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wouldn’t,” Sam dismissed it immediately. Shani found herself nodding. Nobody could be so devoted to their spouse and simultaneously do...</span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which means...” they both looked at each other, “that Prof. Solo’s husband is someone from the staff!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was now the end of May, and neither Sam nor Shani were any closer to discovering the identity of Prof. Solo’s husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was frustrating. The snooping would probably go faster if they could employ the entire Theater Arts major but they learned their lesson with the damn T-shirt episode. No more betting pools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if was, the process of elimination method was incredibly slow, when they had to balance the course load on top of trying not to be caught for stalking. But one by one, they had ruled out almost everyone from the male college staff members. With the exception of Prof. Brickwall, of course. It was clear that the man hated Prof. Solo and everything he stood for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about that Chemistry professor? He’s cute.” Dr. Mitaka was arguably more than cute, so much that several Arts majors developed a sudden interest in natural sciences, but Shani found herself strangely unmoved. It was as if cuteness wasn’t enough… and Shani tried hard not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam shook her head. “I heard him last week asking that new waitress at the café out on a date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit,” Shani swore. Then her phone pinged with email notification. She opened it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” she scrolled down the text. “Professor Solo is cancelling the morning lecture on the eighteenth next month. ‘Thanks for your understanding, blah blah… PS. it’s my anniversary.’ Whoa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eighteenth?” Sam perked up. “That’s the Gay Pride downtown!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh,” Shani breathed out. Of course! It was one of Professor Overshare’s favourite stories - how his fiancé’s family was kicking up so much fuss about their relationship that one day they decided to just screw it and got married at the courthouse, right in the middle of the Gay Pride Parade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. “We have to go. They’re going to be there. We have to go to the Parade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shani nodded, trying to ignore how her throat suddenly felt tight, and how her hand seemed to tingle, overly hot and already missing her best friend’s touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Parade was overwhelming. The noise! The colours! People everywhere, marching, singing, dancing… Shani held onto Sam’s hand just to not get lost in the crowd. Yes. That was why, and not because she suddenly felt so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> with everyone around them happy and cheering… and kissing…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Sam suddenly froze mid-step and nearly got run over by a Vespa. Shani tugged her to safety at the last moment. Sam still didn’t tear her eyes from the crowd a little bit down the road. Shani followed her gaze…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and felt her jaw nearly hit the pavement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that… Professor Brickwall?” she whispered, uncomprehending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man in question had a flower crown tucked amidst his loose red hair. His sharp cheekbones were covered in glitter. And his tall and lithe body was clad in nothing else than a pair of criminally snug leather pants… and a pink crop top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as the two friends watched, hand in hand and holding their breath… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Professor Solo emerged from the crowd, carrying two strawberry popsicles, handed one to Dr. Hux, wound his arm around the man’s waist and kissed him soundly on the lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Parade marched on past them and Sam and Shani still stood in the relative protection of a street lamp, trying to align their worldview with this new revelation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody’s going to believe us,” Shani wailed, at last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam groaned, at last waking from the trance. “Imagine asking Doctor fucking Hux: ‘Excuse me doctor, is Professor Solo your husband?’ yeah that will go over well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t see how that’s any of your business</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Shani drawled in her best impression of Dr. Hux’s posh accent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both girls collapsed with laughter, leaning on each other for support. When they finally got their breath back, Sam held both of Shani’s hands, and was looking at them, her face suddenly all…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… shy? Wistful? Terrified?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their amateur detective adventure around campus had been such fun. Shani felt a sudden pang of regret that it would end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Shani,” Sam said softly. So quietly Shani had to lean closer just to hear her over the noise around them. “Now that we don’t need to stalk our teachers’ dates anymore… would you want to… go out with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shani managed, grateful for the street lamp behind her back. “I’d like that very much.”</span>
</p>
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